


Laundry Duty

by Hyliare



Category: One Piece
Genre: Bickering, Gen, M/M, POV Sanji Vinsmoke, POV Third Person, Petition to Remove 'Vinsmoke' from Sanji's Tag, Post-Time Skip, Pre-Slash, Staring, Swearing, ZoSan Month 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7223503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyliare/pseuds/Hyliare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanji poked at the mass of wet clothing with a forked stick, mouth a hard line around an unlit cigarette (he wasn’t allowed to smoke while on laundry duty). Laundry duty. He was almost never assigned to laundry duty—if he was going to be around hot water, his skills obviously lay elsewhere. Still, once in a blue moon his name would come up in the bullshit chore lottery, and he had to swap his salt for soap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laundry Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Another piece written for DarkChibiShadow's Birthday Month of ZoSan (http://onigirifortwo.tumblr.com/post/145314409610/as-some-of-you-may-know-i-go-hard-as-fuck-for-my). Happy birthday, DCS!

There was no other word for them than “horrible.”

…No, that was wrong. There were plenty of words. Nauseating, terrible, awful, uncouth, embarrassing, pitiful, garish, scary, bad, _scary-bad_.

But they were horrible, too.

Sanji poked at the mass of wet clothing with a forked stick, mouth a hard line around an unlit cigarette (he wasn’t allowed to smoke while on laundry duty). _Laundry_ duty. He was almost never assigned to laundry duty—if he was going to be around hot water, his skills obviously lay elsewhere. Still, once in a blue moon his name would come up in the bullshit chore lottery, and he had to swap his salt for soap.

He didn’t mind washing his own clothes; he could make sure to give them the care they required. He certainly didn’t mind washing the ladies’ clothes, despite the fact that underwear was everyone’s personal responsibility (he honestly benefitted from that rule, more than he suffered). He didn’t mind Brook’s clothes, either; the suits were familiar, and since Brook didn’t sweat, since he didn’t have _skin_ , they were barely dirty in the first place. Usopp’s clothes had weird stains, but they were almost all plant-based, so they came up easy. Franky’s, on the other hand, had grease spots that were fucking _impossible_ to get out, but at least there wasn’t a lot of fabric to actually wash (and for that, Sanji thanked the underwear rule). Luffy’s clothes didn’t have as many food stains as someone might think, since he inhaled everything so _thoroughly_ , and the only annoying thing about Chopper’s clothes was the shed fur. So, that only left Zoro, and his clothes. The horrible ones.

It wasn’t just that they were the dirtiest and most plentiful combined. It was that they were ugly. And _Zoro’s_. Zoro, who had actually had his name _removed_ from the chore lottery for every task but “moving heavy things” because he was fucking inept at anything that required even a second’s worth of finesse (like laundry, and sewing repairs, and polishing the deck, and drying dishes, and watering greenery, and even spooling fishing line without breaking it every God-forsaken meter) and made up the slack by taking extra watch. Zoro, who soaked his clothes in sweat multiple times per day, slopped soup broth and booze onto them, paid no mind to splashes of enemies’ blood…Plus, they were _ugly_.

He huffed and chewed on the end of his cigarette until his tongue burned. He shoved his washing stick into the last load again, agitating it to refresh the bubbles. Laundry duty was horrible. It was nauseating, terrible, awful—

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Sanji scanned the deck as his hands mindlessly shelled pea pods. The day after laundry duty was usually…interesting. Those among them with at least one creative bone in their bodies (or their skeletons) would break out new outfits, while the less-gifted would wear _the_ _same fucking thing they always wore_. Even _Luffy_ had put on a tank top instead of his flavor-of-the-week vest. Yet, there he was, the idiot swordsman, in his stupid green robe that matched his stupid hair. Why did he wear it wide open like that? Did he like to show off the scar from Mihawk? Or did he think it looked good? Sexy? And what was with the belly band? Sanji stuck an empty pod in his mouth in lieu of a cigarette, since he was running low. Only, he realized that he’d just added _more_ green to his field of vision, so he crushed it between his teeth and swallowed (they were a little tough, but they weren’t bitter; they’d sauté up well with some lemon). He kept on staring across the deck, until Usopp came by with an attempt to convince him to spare some peas for a prototype “pea shooter.”

Usopp did not get any peas…Until he pulled off an impressively-massive pout and had ten dropped, one by one, into his waiting palm.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

How tight was that sash, for it to keep his swords in like that? Was it just some wonky, angular physics garbage? Did he keep his hand on the hilts all the time for comfort, or because they were loose? …They couldn’t be _loose_. Anyway, the sash was just another piece of the ugly puzzle that was Roronoa Zoro’s wardrobe. Those boots had probably been patent at some point, but had been scuffed beyond belief.

“What’re you looking at, shit-cook?”

“What do you _think_ I’m looking at?” Sanji had been staring again, smoking on deck while dough proofed in the galley. His answer, though, was apparently not what Zoro had been expecting, because his brow furrowed in confusion and his tan jaw cocked to the side.

“My feet?”

“Yeah! So that was a stupid fucking question, wasn’t it?”

“Hn. Sure, whatever. _Why?_ ”

So, it had turned out that Sanji’s quick comeback had only been brilliant in the very short run. He pursed his lips for a few long seconds, then said, “Leave your boots in the galley tonight. I’ll polish them.”

“…Eh?”

“What’s that face? You sharpened my knives before. I’m returning the favor. That’s all.”

“You care about your knives. I don’t give a shit about these boots.”

“ _Tch_ , yeah, I can _tell_. I’m already going to polish my shoes, so just do it.”

A single brown eye narrowed, before it relaxed and its owner smiled wide. “I’ll do it, but I won’t count it for that _favor_.”

“I don’t owe you—!”

“Hey, cook, you said it, not me. Trying to go back on your word now?”

“It’s just a turn of phrase, idiot marimo.”

“Thought you were a man of conviction.”

“ _Fine_ , you can have a favor. What do you want?”

“I’ll have to think about it…”

“Cool. Great. Think about it. You know where to find me.” Sanji frowned, then flicked his cigarette butt over the deck railing and left. He spent the next half-hour trying to forget the way the wicked twist of Zoro’s smile-turned-smirk made his stomach knot up tighter than the rolls he was braiding.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Three days later, Sanji was starting to think the fake and also 100% made-up favor had been forgotten, or that Zoro hadn’t been serious about it in the first place. The boots had been polished, and though they didn’t look _good_ , exactly (unlike his own shoes), they looked passable. Maybe, then, Zoro’s mind had changed as to what constituted a favor. Maybe it would even lead to him improving his appearance in _other_ ways—like bathing more than once a week. Zoro really ought to bathe more often.

Sanji slung a bag over his shoulder. The Sunny had docked earlier that morning at a small island, barely inhabited. They were going to end up paying a premium for supplies, sure, but needs must. He’d pick up at least enough to ensure they got to the next, bigger harbor in comfort. He wasn’t looking forward to rolling his own cigarettes, though…and that was assuming he found tobacco for sale in the first place.

“Oi, cook, wait up.”

“Hm?” He turned, and his eyes focused in on flapping green fabric as a sea breeze swept by. The breeze passed and Zoro’s robe went still.

“I’m going with you. I thought of that favor.”

“…Heh. What, you want me to be your compass?”

A sour look passed over the marimo’s face, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “I’ll tell you when we get to town.”

Zoro followed behind the whole way, a twenty minute trip. It was late enough in the day that all the stalls in the little market had been set up—a few had even been taken down, having run out of wares. The first thing Sanji bought was a nectarine, with a side of advice on where to find tobacco. Zoro followed him to the smoke stand. The old woman who ran it sold three different loose blends and two different papers, and some packs of combinations that she’d rolled herself. The mark-up on the pre-rolled cigarettes was ridiculous, so he got an ounce of each kind of loose tobacco and an extra ounce of the one that smelled most familiar, plus the cheaper papers and a bag of weird, stubby filters.

He rolled a single cigarette up as they walked back toward the produce stalls, but as he ran his tongue along the edge of the paper to seal it, he felt a prickle on the back of his neck. Behind him, the too-green swordsman had stopped short. Sanji looked back, and Zoro looked to the side.

“Uh. Something wrong?”

Zoro’s wide neck swung around again. “That favor. Before you buy all the food.”

“Yeah?”

“I, uh…I was thinking about…buying some things.”

“Lending you money isn’t a favor.”

“I don’t want a loan from you! I want… _tuba…cola_.”

Sanji…had not heard that right. He tapped his newly-rolled smoke to pack it tighter and frowned. “What was that?” He made sure to watch Zoro’s mouth, for clarity.

“I was gonna buy _clothes_ , alright? And I thought you could, y’know, _help_. A little.”

“… _That’s_ the favor you want? Fashion advice?”

“Forget it. It’s not like I want to look like _you_ , anyway. Just thought…”

Zoro’s words dissolved into more grumbling, and Sanji stood there with his fresh cigarette hanging in his mouth, filter getting soggy. Then, he grinned.

“Of course I’ll help! How could I refuse to help some poor mossy guy like you? Are you trying to impress someone? Do you think the Greatest Swordsman needs to look the part? Do you want to get a feathered hat, like Miha—”

“I said _forget_ it.”

“Aw, come on. I’m just teasing. If you hid that stupid hair of yours, no one would recognize you.”

“I’m going back to the Sunny.”

Sanji kept his lips sealed as Zoro stomped back toward the tobacco seller…and then stomped _back_ back to where Sanji stood, shoulders shaking to keep in his laughter. He managed to calm himself, but his cheeks were still a little pink.

“No, really, I’ll help! I’d like to help. What kind of clothes do you want? I saw a stand with some dresses, so there are probably other things, too.”

Zoro was glaring, his own cheeks splotchy. “Nice ones…Not expensive.”

“Uh…Okay, we can try. Come on.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As it turned out, the pickings were slim. The clothes were _nice_ , but they were _not_ “not expensive.” And since it was a market stall, there was no good place to try things on. Zoro had shucked the sleeves of his robe to pull on a tailored white shirt—or, he’d tried to. The thing wouldn’t fit over his biceps (Sanji scoffed at this, but not as much as he’d scoff at being given Zoro’s bandana to hold). The shirt a size larger fit his arms, but was too wide at his waist. He only managed to get out, “I’ll just tuck it into” before Sanji interjected a “no haramaki with ‘nice’ clothes” rule. Zoro inspected a shirt with a breast pocket. He tugged at the hem of some navy trousers.

“This isn’t—” “—working.” The two of them glanced at each other. Sanji continued, “…The next island we stop at might be bigger. _Hopefully_ , it’ll be bigger. We can look again. If you want to.”

“Sure. Favor isn’t done yet.”

“Pff. I _helped_ , even if you didn’t buy anything.”

The shopping got finished, and, somehow, the walk back to the ship seemed shorter than normal.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Their next stop actually had a name—Real Hark City. Sanji wasn’t sure what a “hark” was, or whether any unreal ones existed, but a city with a name usually meant a city with a market worth its salt, so to speak. He laid out a buffet bar for self-service lunch and then stepped out on deck for a quick look around. There was nothing, until a grunt by his knees made him jump.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing there?”

Zoro blinked slow, like it was obvious—and it sort of was. He stretched his back and stood from where he’d been sitting cross-legged. “Waiting for you.”

“Yeah, well, lunch is out now, so—”

“You going into town?”

That made Sanji pause. He fished out a cigarette (he was down to his last dozen) before he answered, “For supplies. You coming?”

“For the favor.”

They went to a brick and mortar clothes shop first.

“You know, ‘nice’ doesn’t have to mean a suit…Unless you’re shopping for a funeral, or something? I still don’t get it.”

“What would it mean, then?”

Sanji gave an only-slightly-exaggerated sigh. “Well, you can look put-together without a buttoned shirt or jacket. You could even wear jeans, if they’re cut right, and a dark color. Like these ones.”

“You don’t wear jeans.”

“Yeah, they limit your range of motion. That doesn’t matter as much with how you fight, though.”

“It’s not like I’m gonna be wearing this shit all the time. I won’t be wearing it for fighting.”

“Well, what _will_ you be wearing it for?”

He watched the marimo’s jaw tighten, his brown eye boring a hole in the mannequin to their right. “What, is it a secret?”

“ _She_ told me to. Nami.”

“She…what? When? Why would Nami-san care about your clothes?” His voice might have gotten a little strained by the end. It might have even cracked slightly on the up-swing of his question. It was a ridiculous thought—insane—and Sanji didn’t believe in it for a second, but for a fraction of a second? Maybe.

“She doesn’t.”

“Right, of course not.”

“She thought _you_ did.”

And he was back to being confused. “…Eh?”

“You _care_ about this stuff, right? You keep your shoes clean and your shirts never have wrinkles or missing buttons, and even when you look fucking goofy—” “Hey, I _never_ —” “—it’s obvious you’ve got some _vision_ for it or something. It’s important to you. And you’re always staring at my clothes like they wasted leftovers.” “I, uh—” “So, this favor…It’s like a double-favor, alright? So, help me help you, or whatever. And when I don’t feel like having you be all pissed off at me, I can change into whatever you pick out here.”

“That…would definitely not work.”

Zoro snapped back to looking at him, finally. “Why the Hell not?”

The shop felt small, like the racks of shirts and straight-legged jeans were closing in. Sanji hung a maroon Henley back up where it belonged and squared his shoulders. “Because I’m _not_ always staring at your clothes.”

“Yeah, right—”

“I’m staring at _you_. Your clothes are just…in the way!”

“…Oh.”

“‘Oh’?”

“ _Oh_.”

Sanji stuck his hands in his pockets, starting to fold slightly on in himself. “You still want to buy some fancy outfit?”

He got a grin in return, languid and cocky. “Nah. Not if I don’t have to. You’re saying I can just strip down instead, same effect?”

“I didn’t say _anything_ like that, meathead.” But the clenching of his teeth probably told a different story. Zoro laughed.

“I’ll just go shirtless, then, when I want you to get off my case.”

“Off your case?”

The grin widened. “…Or on it.”

A gentle cough from the shopkeeper brought Sanji back to reality and heat crept up his neck. He grabbed a fistful of green robe and didn’t stop until they were back on the ship, supplies be damned.

At least if Zoro started to bare the little-remaining parts of his chest and stomach on the regular, laundry duty might become less Hellish. That was good news for _everyone_.


End file.
